Poetry by Nathan Erwin

           ​Mike Maguire CC



CURRICULUM ON CONVERTING JOY
For J.F.G.


This morning, Moonbeam blasted me with email after email.
First came the message on dolphin telepathy, next, an illumination
of cyclic time, then an article on “How to Disappear for the Next Four Years.”

Let’s be clear: Moonbeam is your mama, but I am you teacher.
And since learning must be measured, your objective
is to break bread with yourself. You must feast on the lemongrass of
your locks, share, with your one wild twin, the spring’s watercress.

Most days, as the fog settles and before the first bell rings,
I slip in the side door.                   By the time I’m done organizing the science stations
(today, an owl pellet and scalpel),                         Moonbeam materializes                 to guru     
in front of the smart board, to sing in mossy tongues
with the swallows nested in the drop ceiling. She asks me,
I’m deploying a dream team of quixotic artists. You in?
I shrug and turn on a lantern.

In November, your mother wrote me Happy New Year
and in December, she shifted to Schuyler County and off the grid, 
out of your 9th year and into the 5th dimension.             
During morning sharing, you reminisce about feeding your twin raw hotdogs right out of fridge, 
the two of you only four. Alone
and hungry. Her scooping water out of the well. How many days did you play your one-
over-one drum circle?
After recess, I assign you sentences to diagram: Every morning I wake up cold and hungry.
                                                                                                            Followed by the affirmation: I am enough.

It amazes me how tight the heart minds the drumhead,
                                                                                                     how love can stretch across damp hours.
Like your Moonbeam says the only time is past time.             And yes, it’s great to have revelations, 
               to take stake in emotional renovations. But honestly, I’d be happy if you just stopped hoarding Citrine. 

Like an endless cavern, I just want to hug you and say, 
                I’m sorry that happened. 
Now, sharing time is over. Principle Turner has come to observe us, to score my performance.
Time to learn
about converting improper fractions, you’ll be good at these.
                                                             It’s two over one.                 A whole and                                       apart. 



​

​Nathan Erwin is a rural poet, educator, and food sovereignty organizer. With a family tree rooted in the North and South, Alabama moonshiners and Vermont dairy farmers, Erwin grew up in the hills of Newark Valley, New York. His poetry has appeared in a number of print and online publications, including COUNTERCLOCK, Willow Springs, and The Lullwater Review. His first book Hemp and Farm Justice (Mandel-Vilar Press) is forthcoming Spring 2021.